


Scratched Up

by Joycee



Series: Traumatic [4]
Category: White Collar
Genre: Art, Comfort Sex, Forgery, Hurt/Comfort, Illnesses, M/M, Transvestite
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-27
Updated: 2016-02-01
Packaged: 2018-05-16 17:08:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5833693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Joycee/pseuds/Joycee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Neal is anxious to return to work, so he tries to hide the fact that he is suffering from a late complication of his surgery while they investigate an art forgery case.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Yellow

**Author's Note:**

> Sequel to _Healing Up_

Neal has been bored since he returned home from the hospital a couple of weeks ago. True, the surgical repair of his abdomen is still red and sore, but the stitches are out and the wound is no longer covered by dressings.

Neal has resumed his swimming routine to rebuild his abdominal strength and recover his lung capacity. True, his surgeon, Dr. Carpenter, has warned him not to overdo it, but Neal is anxious to put the whole the incident behind him.

He can't stand to see the guilt in Peter's eyes and he misses the easy camaraderie they have when they work together. Yes, Peter still wants to have sex with him, but he treats him like he's fragile and he's always asking if Neal is all right.

Neal wants to go back to feeling invincible, to enjoying life, to working, and to having rough physical sex. So he downloads the FBI's Return To Work Clearance Form and fills it in and forges Dr. Carpenter's signature on it.

When Peter comes by as usual for his daily after work visit, he tells Neal about his latest case. "Collectors are coming out of the woodwork all of a sudden wanting to buy and sell Andy Warhol pieces. The market has suddenly been flooded with them."

Neal surmises, "And you don't believe they are real. Some of them must be forgeries."

Peter admits, "I wish you could come with me to look at them. It's so hard to tell with Warhol. There are so many legitimate works out there; yet they're pretty simple to copy, too."

Neal proudly produces his form and presents it to Peter, saying casually, "Well, I guess you'll be glad to be getting your CI back. You know you can't solve art cases without me."

Peter asks suspiciously, "Where did you get this? I didn't know you had an appointment with Dr. Carpenter today. I'm surprised he would sign this."

"Well, I don't tell you everything," Neal argues truthfully. "Dr. Carpenter says I'm healing remarkably well."

"I know, but I thought we all agreed that you would consult from home," Peter complains. "I think it's too soon for you to come back to work full time."

"Okay," Neal agrees. "If it turns out to be too much, I'll just work part time."

"Well, all right, I guess, if the doctor thinks it's okay," concedes Peter. "I sure could use your help with this case."

Neal walks over and puts his arms around Peter's neck. He gives him a gentle kiss and says cheerfully, "Okay then, pick me up tomorrow morning!"

When Peter gets home, he complains to Elizabeth, "Neal says he's ready to come back to work already, but I don't know."

"Oh Hon, so soon? That doesn't seem right," Elizabeth worries.

"I know. That's what I think, too, but Neal showed me a Return To Work Form signed by Dr. Carpenter," admits Peter.

"Do you think maybe you should call Dr. Carpenter? I mean, just to make sure," suggests Elizabeth.

Peter laughs, "Well, you know how Dr. Carpenter feels about me. Just imagine if I start questioning his judgment."

Elizabeth smiles, "Yeah, I guess you're right. Neal does seem to be healing well."

"This job shouldn't be too strenuous anyway, and Neal did agree he'll just work part time if it's too much for him," Peter concludes.

When he picks Neal up in the morning, Neal looks as handsome as ever in his Devore suit and cocky hat. Peter is flooded with emotion at the sight of him looking so normal again.

Neal notices the emotion in Peter's eyes and teases, "Aw, don't get all sentimental on me now. I intend to be just as annoying as I always have been."

Peter smiles and asks, "You up for visiting the auction house to see some of the Warhols?"

Neal nods and grins, "Of course. That's what I'm here for."

When they get to the auction house, they conduct a long interview with the director and Neal examines the array of paintings and prints they have acquired. By the end of the morning, he feels tired and a little nauseated. 

As they leave, Peter notes energetically, "Well, that was a productive morning. Let's get some lunch and we'll go see another broker this afternoon."

Neal demurs, "Um, well, I'm really not that hungry and I'm still kind of watching my diet. Maybe you should just drop me off at home for awhile and pick me up again for this afternoon."

"Sure, I'll do even better than that. I'll come home with you and fix a nice salad that you can eat," Peter volunteers.

Neal agrees reluctantly, "Well, I guess that'll be okay."

Peter pats his arm obliviously, "Sure, we can discuss your impressions of what we saw this morning. I'm interested in your opinion."

Neal smiles weakly and nods. He admits to himself that he may have taken on a little more than he can handle, but he doesn't want Peter to know it.

Neal picks at his salad and excuses himself to go to the bathroom. He sags against the wall and checks his healing wounds, which look red and irritated. He gets some Advil out and swallows a couple for the pain.

He is really feeling exhausted and sick, but it is his first day back at work and he is determined not to show any weakness. He puts a smile on his face and asks Peter, "Ready to go again?"

Peter looks him over and asks him anxiously, "Are you sure you're ready to come back to work, Buddy? You're not looking real good."

Neal chuckles, "Gee thanks. Here I am trying my best to be a good asset for the FBI and you're criticizing how I look. Guess I'm not quite up to my usual standards."

Peter shakes his head, "No, I mean, you're always gorgeous. I just think you still look a little pale and weak. I believe you're pushing too hard to get back to work too soon. You just got out of the hospital a couple of weeks ago."

Neal brushes him off, "I'm fine, Peter. Lying around the house all day isn't going to make me any stronger. I just need to build my stamina back."

Peter asks suspiciously, "Are you sure Dr. Carpenter said it was okay for you to return to work?"

Neal evades, "Didn't you see his signature on the Release for Work form?"

_"Hmm,"_ Peter thinks to himself, _"I'd better take another look at that signature."_

Neal quickly changes the subject, "So, what do you think about this scam to pass off fake Andy Warhols?"

Peter laughs, "Okay, Neal. I give up for now. I'll just have to trust that you'll take care of yourself, I guess. Let's go back to the office and we can meet with the rest of the team."

Everyone gathers in the conference room and Peter describes their trip to the auction house and their interview with the director. Neal contributes, "It seems there definitely is a fake pop artist out there selling 'recently discovered' Warhols. I'm sure some of the ones we saw this morning were forged."

Peter adds, "People are paying a great deal of money for them, only to discover later when they try to show or sell or donate them that they are fake."

Jones shakes his head. "I've never understood how those things could hang in the finest museums, much less sell for thousands, even millions, of dollars. It looks like anyone could easily make a copy."

Diana asks, "Caffrey, how easy is it? Could you do it?"

Everyone looks over at Neal, who is absently scratching at his arm. He notices everyone's eyes on him and stammers, "Wwhat? Oh, I'm sorry...."

There is a moment of awkward silence. Diana and Jones exchange concerned glances. Peter covers for him, "I'm sure Neal could make a perfectly convincing copy. Tomorrow morning, Neal can explain to us how to authenticate a Warhol. Jones, I'd like you to put together a list of all the Warhols currently on the market. Diana, you research the backgrounds of the potential buyers and the sellers."

To Neal's relief Peter adjourns the conference and heads up to his office. Diana follows him and inquires, "Boss, are you sure Neal is ready to come back to work so soon?"

Peter frowns, "No, I'm not, but he has a form signed by Dr. Carpenter saying he can and he wants to."

"Well, knowing how protective Dr. Carpenter is, I'm surprised but I guess it's okay then," Diana concurs.

"Let's just try to cut him a little slack until he gets used to being back. We won't push him too hard," Peter suggests.

When Neal finally gets back home, he declines Peter's offer to come in with him. He laboriously makes his way up the stairs and collapses onto his bed with all his clothes on, just managing to kick off his shoes.

A couple of hours later, Mozzie lets himself in. He is surprised to find Neal in bed dressed in his suit. He shakes him and asks, "Everything okay, mon frère? Why are you sleeping with your clothes on?"

Neal feels embarrassed and snaps, "Can't a guy take a little nap? I just had major surgery not too long ago, remember?"

"Yeah, but that doesn't explain the suit," replies Mozzie suspiciously.

Neal sighs, "I went back to work with Peter today and I was a little tired when I got home. That's all."

"You went back to work? Suit agreed to let you do that? What is he thinking?" Mozzie exclaims. "That's ridiculous. You're not ready to return to work. I thought they said you could consult from home."

"Mozz, take it easy. They did. I want to go back to work. It was my idea," Neal explains.

"But why? Neal, you are not strong enough yet! What are you trying to prove?" huffs Mozzie.

"I'm an adult and I can decide for myself," Neal protests. "I'm tired of everyone telling me what to do."

Mozzie is about to continue the argument when Neal blanches and doubles over, grabbing his right side. Alarmed, he cries, "Neal! What is it? Are you all right?"

Neal slowly sits back up and says unconvincingly, "Yeah, I'm fine. I just had a little cramp for a minute. You know, Mozz, I'm really tired. I think I'll just take a quick shower and go to bed. Do you mind?"

"No, I mean, of course, that's fine. Whatever you need, but Neal, I don't like the idea of you pushing yourself too hard. You don't have to prove anything, you know," Mozzie fusses.

"No, I know. I'm not," Neal assures him. "I'm just tired tonight. That's all. Don't worry."

As soon as Mozzie leaves, Neal curls back up on the bed and rocks back and forth. Even he is beginning to wonder if he has tried to go back to work too soon, but he doesn't want to back down.

In a little while, the pain subsides and Neal heats up some pasta he has in his refrigerator and pours a glass of nice Italian wine to go with it. He eats slowly with little appetite. Afterwards, he wearily undresses and get in the shower.

The hot water feels good as it runs over him. He gets out and towels off, feeling exhausted and queasy again. He puts on his sleep pants and shaves and combs his hair. Suddenly, he is overwhelmed with nausea and leans over and vomits up his dinner into the toilet.

Neal sinks to the floor and presses a wet washcloth against his face. He wonders if there could really be something seriously wrong, but then dismisses the idea. He climbs back into bed and falls asleep immediately.

In his dreams, he is selling a forged Warhol painting to Dr. Carpenter when Peter catches him and arrests him. The look of disappointment in Peter's eyes is heartbreaking to Neal. He tosses and turns and finally wakes up feeling sweaty and unsettled.

After another shower, Neal drinks some coffee and get ready for work. His stomach feels only a little upset and he forces himself to eat a little toast. He manages to get ready before Peter arrives to pick him up.

"How are you feeling this morning, Buddy?" asks Peter kindly. "Did you get some sleep last night? Ready to go again today?"

Neal hesitates, but then responds, "Yeah, you can count on me. I'm ready."

When they get to the office, Peter rounds up the team and asks Neal to educate them about how to distinguish a real Warhol work from a fake. He discusses some of the points to look for and then restates his preliminary impression that some of the items he examined at the auction house the day before were fake, explaining some of his specific observations.

Jones comments, "Well, it still looks to me like you'd have to find Andy's fingerprints on one to be sure!"

Diana laughs, "Maybe that's not out of the question. A lot of these works have been in the hands of the family since Warhol's death in 1987. Not too many people may have handled them."

Neal adds, "Provenance can be really hard to follow on some of these, though, since Warhol was so prolific and he loved to give his art to his friends. Some of them were passed around pretty casually during his lifetime."

Peter muses, "They don't seem like great art at first glance because of their apparent simplicity but they really are quite compelling once you look at them a little more."

Diana enthuses, "I love the Marilyn Monroes. They're so evocative in every color. I wish I had one."

"Would you like me to make you a credible copy?" volunteers Neal. Everyone looks at him suspiciously until he grins, "Hey, just kidding!"

Peter is relieved to see that Neal seems to be feeling better this morning. He asks, "Are you okay to go see another broker this afternoon?"

Neal does feel better so he agrees, "Sure, why not? I'm fine, Peter, really."

In the car, Neal feels a twinge of nausea again. He scratches unconsciously at his arm and Peter asks, "Do you have a rash, Neal? You keep scratching your arms."

Neal says self consciously, "I guess it's just dry skin from the hospital or something. My skin feels itchy but I don't see any redness except from the scratching. I'm sure it'll be okay."

Peter gives him a concerned look and says again, "I really don't want you to push yourself too hard. You are recovering from life threatening injuries and it's going to take some time, whether you like it or not. When will you see Dr. Carpenter again?"

"Uh, next week at my next appointment." Neal pleads, "Peter, please stop worrying about me. I'm going to be okay. I promise."

Peter reaches over and squeezes his arm and says, "Okay, I trust you. Just don't hesitate to let me know if you need a little more time off, okay?"

Neal blinks back emotion and nods. They get out of the car and take a short walk to a gallery that deals in Warhol screen prints. This time they sit down while they interview the proprietor and Neal feels better.

They ask for a tour and the owner, a flamboyantly gay man named George Andrews, shows them around, calling attention to his most recently acquired items and pausing so Neal can look closely at them. He asks, "Well, what do you think? If someone is forging these, they're sure doing a good job, don't you think?"

Neal agrees, "Yes, they show a high degree of skill, but some of these are definitely not original."

"I agree," George affirms. "That's why I'm willing to cooperate with you. Somebody is definitely flooding the market and it's bringing down prices. It's bad for business."

"Any idea who that is?" inquires Peter. "You must be familiar with who is selling these, and who's trying to buy them, for that matter."

"Yes, I am, and I have my suspicions," replies George. He stops and looks around for Neal, who has lagged behind.

Neal catches up and asks casually, "Who uses the studio you have back there?"

George squirms and looks annoyed. "Oh, I let some local artists use that studio sometimes."

Once they get back out on the street, Neal tells Peter, "I have an idea that the fakes are coming out of that studio back there, Peter."

"Really? Why do you say that?" Peter follows up. Then he notices the expression on Neal's face and pauses. "Hey, what's the matter? You look like you're having pain. Do you need to go home?"

"Yeah, maybe that's a good idea," Neal admits reluctantly. "I've been having these cramps sometime that are really annoying. I'm sure it's nothing, but I probably should rest for a little while. I'm sorry."

"What are you sorry about? It's okay if you need to rest," Peter soothes. "Do you want to go to the hospital and call Dr. Carpenter?"

"No!" insists Neal adamantly. "I'm really fine. It's just a little cramp. I'll be fine as soon as I rest for a little while."

Peter concedes, "Well, okay, if you're sure. Why don't I drop you off and you can take the rest of the afternoon off anyway."

Neal collapses onto his bed again and curls up into a protective position. He tries to relax and take a few deep breaths. Unconsciously, he begins to scratch at his arms and legs. He skips dinner, showers, and applies lotion to try to stop the itching.

When he pees, he notices his urine is a dark color, which is strange, because earlier he noticed his shit was very light colored. He looks in the mirror and notices his complexion looks kind of yellowish. He sighs and gets into bed, feeling too tired to deal with it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> White Collar Warhol style:  
> (Posted on Twitter by Sara Ellis @TheBomerFan)  
> https://pbs.twimg.com/media/Cy8WYRsWEAA3-Mh?format=jpg&name=large


	2. Orange

Mozzie drops in the next morning while Neal is getting dressed. He is all excited with some news from the street. "So guess what I heard? Someone is dumping a bunch of very good fake Andy Warhols. A couple of fences have already gotten burned."

"Any idea who's doing it?" Neal asks casually. Mozzie shakes his head, "Nope. It's somebody new on the scene, though. Somebody pretty good, too."

Neal asks more pointedly, "Got any good ideas on how to catch him?"

"How do you know it's a he, my friend?" Mozzie asks plausibly. "It could be anyone. Hey, is this the case you and the suit are working on?"

"Yeah, it is," Neal confesses. "I'd sure like to solve it. It would help prove I'm back after all my time off."

"I still don't see why you should have to prove anything, but have you got any leads so far?" Mozzie pursues.

"I think I might know where the fakes are being produced," Neal explains. "I could use a little help in finding out who uses that studio. Interested in helping me find out?"

Mozzie smiles, "Sure, what do you have in mind? I'm always glad to help out my friend."

"Thanks, Mozzie," says Neal gratefully. "I have an idea. I'm going to call Peter and tell him I'm not coming in today. Come back later this afternoon, and I'll have something for you. We can make our plans then."

Mozzie asks fretfully, "So you're feeling better again? You haven't had any more cramps? Really, Neal, I don't want you to end up back in the hospital again."

Neal assures him that he is feeling better. He spends the morning at a local silk screening shop creating a copy of the Marilyn Monroe print that Diana admires. The process is intricate and he enjoys focusing his attention on art again. He looks at his final creation with satisfaction. It is good enough to fool an undiscerning eye.

When Mozzie returns that afternoon, they hatch a plan for Mozzie to sneak it into the studio at George Andrews' gallery the following day and pretend he is putting on the finishing touches there. Mozzie confirms, "This should flush out whoever is creating the fakes, all right. I doubt if they'll welcome the competition."

"Yeah, and it will make them nervous to wonder why you chose that studio for your work, too," Neal adds. "I don't think George is the artist, but I think he knows, or at least suspects, the fakes are coming from his studio."

"By the way, I'm glad to see you looking better today. You have some color in your complexion," Mozzie notices. After he leaves, Neal checks the mirror again to see if his skin still has the sallow tone to it. He sighs indecisively and lies down to rest again, but the itching is really driving him crazy. He gets out some lotion with exotic oils and smoothes it on.

Peter stops in later after work and is relieved to see Neal up and around. Neal has concealed all signs of his day's artwork. Peter flirts, "So are you up for a beer or a glass of wine with me?"

Neal smiles, "Sure," and brushes up against him purposely as he goes to the kitchen. Peter drinks his beer enthusiastically and they chat about the case, but Neal finds he isn't very interested in drinking his wine. When Peter comes over to give Neal a hug, Neal wistfully rests his head against his strong chest for a moment and then pulls away reluctantly.

"Peter, I'm still just not really feeling like myself again. I'm still a little queasy. Yesterday, I threw up my dinner. My itchy skin is driving me nuts, too," Neal admits.

"Maybe you're allergic to something," Peter suggests. Have you changed detergents or anything? Your skin does look a little reddish."

"I don't know. I guess I can ask Dr. Carpenter next time I see him," Neal sighs. "Peter, I'm so tired of this. I just want to be well again."

Peter pulls him close and strokes his back soothingly. "I know you do, Buddy. Of course, you do. It's just going to take a little more time. Can you try to be patient and not rush things too much?"

Neal raises his head up and kisses him sweetly. "Thanks, Peter, you're so understanding and supportive. I'm lucky for that, I guess. Mozzie checks on me every day, too."

Peter musses Neal's hair playfully and reassures, "You're going to be fine. Don't worry. I'll call you in the morning and see if you're up for coming to work. Why don't you plan to come over and have dinner with El and me on Friday night?"

After he leaves, Neal drinks the wine he poured earlier. He's surprised how fatigued he feels, and after puttering around a little while and pecking at some dinner, he gives up and goes to bed. Again, his itchy skin plagues him and he applies some more lotion, even though it doesn't seem to be helping all that much. Eventually, he gets up and takes a Benadryl and that helps him to get to sleep.

He wakes in the morning feeling kind of bloated and listless. He shrugs it off and gets ready for work before Pete arrives to pick him up. On the way, Peter fills Neal in on the developments in the Warhol case from the day before.

Neal suggests, "Whoever is doing this is either naïve and inexperienced or else they're being forced to operate on a very short timeframe. Otherwise, they wouldn't be putting out so many fakes at once."

Peter replies, "Yeah, I'll bet they could have gotten away with it for awhile if they had just slipped them onto the market gradually over a longer period of time. Do you really think they could all have been produced in that studio at the George Andrews gallery?"

Neal shakes his head, "No, I think they are being finished there, but there must be a larger facility somewhere else. Maybe there's a 'Factory' around somewhere like Andy Warhol had."

"Well, word of something like that would filter out pretty quickly, don't you think?" Peter speculated. "The notoriety of the original Factory with all its models and eccentric artists was what helped to launch Warhol's fame."

" _Art is what you can get away with_ ," quotes Neal with a smile. " _An artist is somebody who produces things that people don't need to have._ "

"Oh, let's not get started on Andy Warhol quotes! He was quite a character," groans Peter.

Neal wonders, "Do you think he would even be upset by people forging his works, or do you think he would just be amused? After all, he believed _'It's not what you are that counts. It's what they think you are.'_ He did worship money, though, and fame, so I guess he probably wouldn't like it."

"It's illegal in any case to pass off forgeries as originals. People should at least be getting what they are paying for. These days, some people buy art just for the investment, whether they really appreciate the artistic vision or not," points out Peter.

The day goes by with everyone busily doing more research and following up on more clues in the Warhol case. Late in the afternoon, Peter informs them that he has received a complaint from another dealer. Neal agrees to go with Peter the next morning to gather the new information. 

When he gets home, Neal wonders how things went with Mozzie at the studio at the George Andrews gallery. He isn't hungry, and he doesn't feel like staying home alone, so he decides to go over there and check things out. He figures maybe it will keep his mind off his itchy skin.

Neal finds Mozzie engaging George in conversation when he gets there. Mozzie sees Neal out of the corner of his eye and subtly nods at him to slip back to the studio. Neal manages to get there without George seeing him. He picks up the fake Marilyn and examines it. 

Suddenly the lights go out and Neal hears the door to the studio slam shut. He makes his way carefully to the door and tries it. As he fears, it is locked.


	3. Red

Neal sags against the locked door to the studio at the George Andrews gallery. He sighs and feels around in his pocket for his lock picking tools. Before he can get them out, he bends over from a sharp cramp in his abdomen on the upper right side. Catching his breath, he sits down on the floor for a minute, fighting a wave of nausea.

Out in the gallery, Mozzie hears the door to the studio slam. He hurriedly wraps up his conversation with George and starts to leave. George says, "Well, it's been interesting talking to you, Mozart."

Mozzie pauses for a moment and says, "Oh, I forgot my keys in the studio. I'll just run back there and get them."

George looks skeptical and offers, "Let me go with you. I'd like to see what you were working on this afternoon anyway."

When they find the door to the studio closed, Mozzie quickly raps on it with his familiar pattern to warn Neal. George frowns and wonders, "Now who could have closed the door? It locks itself. Wait here a minute while I go get the key."

As soon as he is out of sight, Mozzie whips out a skeleton key and tries it in the lock. He is relieved to find that it works and quickly opens the door. He sees Neal sitting on the floor and stretches out his hand to help him up. "Neal, quick, we have to get out of here. Bring the print!"

Neal escapes down a back hall and exits through a fire door. As George returns with his key, the alarm wails. He rushes down the hall with Mozzie following and opens the door, but there is no one to be seen. George curses, "Fuck! That's what I get for trying to accommodate local artists by letting them use my studio."

They retreat to George's glassed in office in the gallery and he calls the police and cancels the alarm. He suggests to Mozzie, "Let's go check the studio to see if they did any damage."

George opens the door with his key and looks around. Everything looks fine, but Mozzie exclaims, "My painting! It's gone. I left it right here."

George apologizes, "I never used to have any problems, but recently, someone has been sneaking in here without my permission. I'm sorry about your painting."

Mozzie wonders, "Why do you even have this studio? It seems like something like this was bound to happen?"

"Well, the former owner of this gallery started it to help out struggling artists who can't afford their own place to work. She was Mitzi Mayfeather, one of Warhol's groupies from the seventies. That's why we specialize in original Warhol art."

"Wow, really. How did you become the owner? Was she a relative of yours?" Mozzie inquires.

"No, when she died a few years ago, it was sold off to pay her debts. I was in a position to buy it at the time," George explains. "I heard some of her relatives were upset about it not staying in the family."

"Has it been successful for you?" Mozzie asks. "It's kind of a hard business to break into, isn't it?"

"Well, apparently, not too hard to break into," jokes George. "as we have just seen. Seriously, though, the Warhol prints are my primary source of profit. One reason I've left the studio open is in case some new young genius may come along and I can discover him."

"Or her?" reminds Mozzie. "Is your studio open to women, too?"

"Well, of course. I mean, it could be, but really, I've only ever had men use it. I, uh, like men," confesses George.

"Well, would you mind if I come back again to try to recreate my painting? It won't be the same, but who knows? Maybe I'll create a better one."

"Sure, I'm sorry I didn't get a chance to see it," George agrees. "Now I think I'll close up. Come on out with me, Mozart, so you don't get locked in."

Mozzie runs straights to Neal's apartment and gives his familiar knock. As soon as Neal comes to the door, Mozzie excitedly relates the conversation he just had with George Andrews.

Neal listens half heartedly. He used his last ounce of energy making his escape from the studio. Normally, he would be excited but right now he just feels sluggish and sick. When Mozzie winds down, he responds, "Okay, well thanks for rescuing me Mozz. I'm sure glad I didn't have to stay in there all night."

Mozzie walks over and picks up the Marilyn Monroe print on the table and turns it over. He gasps, "Neal, look! Somebody wrote something on this."

Neal examines it with him and they find, written in tiny letters in grey ink on one edge, the words, _"Art is anything you can get away with,"_ followed by the initials AW.

"What kind of joke is this?" wonders Mozzie. "That's definitely a Warhol quote, but that's sure not who wrote it on this canvas."

"No kidding," Neal says unenthusiastically. Mozzie turns to look at him and huffs, "What's wrong with you? I'd think you'd be excited about this!" Then he looks more closely and says slowly, "Um, Neal, do you know you are turning yellow?"

Neal hurries to the mirror and sees that his skin is a sickly yellow tone. He worries, "Oh no, what now? I wonder if that's why it itches so much."

"Promise you'll go to the doctor tomorrow?" insists Mozzie. "This is definitely not normal."

"Yeah, okay. You're right," Neal concedes. "Thanks again for rescuing me. This is all very interesting but I just can't think tonight. Sorry, Mozz."

Mozzie smiles, "Oh, that's okay. The pleasure was all mine. We'll talk tomorrow."

Neal swallows some Advil and a Benadryl and flops into bed. After a good night's sleep, he feels more energized. He checks the mirror and his color seems to have improved somewhat, so he starts getting dressed for work.

He's drinking his coffee and examining the strange note on the print again when Peter calls. "Hey Buddy, how are you feeling this morning? I tried to call you last night and you didn't answer."

"Oh, well, I guess I didn't hear the phone. I took some Benadryl before I went to bed," Neal apologizes. He'd love to discuss the writing on the print with Peter, but he realizes that Peter doesn't know anything about his scheme with Mozzie. 

Peter informs him, "Well, you're going to get another day off because Hughes needs me in budget meetings all day. I figure you could use the rest anyway."

Neal feels secretly relieved, but he protests, "I could still go check out that other dealer you mentioned. Maybe Jones could go with me."

"No, I've had to put him on another assignment and Diana will be covering for me while I attend the budget meetings," Peter objects. "I don't want you going by yourself, either, Neal."

"Well, okay then. I'll just do a little research on Warhol forgeries from here," Neal says cooperatively.

Peter reminds him, "El and I still want you to come for dinner, though. How about if I come by and pick you up after work?"

Neal agrees, "Okay, that will be nice. I haven't seen Elizabeth lately."

Neal pulls off his suit jacket and loosens his tie. He idly begins surfing the Internet and checking out various articles about fraudulent Warhol sales. He remembers what Mozzie told him the night before and types "Mitzi Mayfeather" into Google.

Immersed in reading about Warhol's Factory and Superstars and It girls, Neal loses track of time. He absently scratches at his skin as he follows link after link, ending with an article about Mitzi's death in 2005 and the subsequent squabble over ownership of her gallery and original Warhol screenprints.

A knock on his door interrupts him and he absently goes over and opens it. He is surprised to see a young woman with shaggy silvery blond hair and extravagant makeup standing there. She is wearing a tight red sweater and a very short white leather miniskirt. She bats her heavily mascaraed eyelashes and asks in a breathy voice, "May I come in?"


	4. Pink

Neal gives her a perplexed little smile and holds the door open for her. She walks straight to the Marilyn Monroe print lying on the table and says, "Oh, I see you got my note. This is not a bad attempt at forgery. It would fool a lot of people."

"But not you," Neal surmises. "Okay, who are you and why are you here? What is your connection with the George Andrews gallery?"

"It's not the George Andrews gallery. It's the Mitzi Mayfeather gallery," his guest asserts forcefully. 

Neal looks at her closely and concludes, "Oh, you must be one of the relatives then. You know, I was just reading about Mitzi and her days with Warhol and the Superstars at the Factory."

"She was my grandmother," the young woman confesses. "She's my inspiration. I'm a model and an actress like she was. She meant for that gallery to be left to me."

"Is that why you are forging Warhol paintings and prints and flooding the market with them?" Neal questions.

"Yes, I want to force Georgie out of business," she admits. "I think my fakes are better than yours, don't you?"

"They're very good copies," Neal allows, "but they'll never fool a real expert. You don't care, though, do you? You're just trying to create turmoil in the market, aren't you?"

"You're very smart, aren't you?" she mocks. "Now why are you producing a forgery of the Marilyns?"

"Who wants to know?" asks Neal, fascinated with this unusual person. "I don't believe you introduced yourself."

"My name is Missy Fairfeather," she claims proudly. "Like it?"

"Very imaginative," Neal smiles. "I'm not even going to ask what your real name is. How old are you, Missy?"

"I'm almost twenty-three," Missy declares. "Old enough to know what I'm doing. Mitzi had already been in a couple of Andy's films when she was my age."

"Mmmhmm, but you haven't gotten your big break yet," guesses Neal. "How are you planning to get the gallery from George? I think he suspects you are producing your forgeries in his studio, by the way."

"Oh, I've been in quite a few porn flicks. I have enough money from that and selling faux Warhols to buy the gallery as soon Georgie feels the need to sell it," Missy says assuredly. "As for Georgie, he doesn't have a clue about me."

Neal turns to his wine rack and asks, "What's your pleasure, Missy? Can I pour you a glass of wine?"

"Mmm, surprise me with something rich and red," flirts Missy. "You're a handsome guy, you know."

"Try this. I think you'll find it unusual, full bodied yet light," Neal smiles, uncorking a bottle and pouring her a glass. As soon as he hands it to her, he grimaces and clutches his right side.

Missy looks at him quizzically. Neal recovers quickly and covers, "Just a little nervousness, I guess. You are very attractive, yourself."

"Think so?" Missy preens. "I hate ordinary. Of course, Andy always said, _I've never met a person I couldn't call a beauty._ "

" _There is beauty in everything; just not everybody sees it,_ " quotes Neal. "He also said, _I don't know where the artificial stops and the real starts._ "

"True. Hey, you know your Warhol, don't you?" Missy compliments. "What made you forge the Marilyn anyway? Were you planning to sell it?"

"A friend of mine admired it, but I noticed a lot of forgeries were changing hands and it occurred to me that I might get in on it," Neal suggests. His side is aching persistently, but he tries hard not to show it.

Missy looks at him closely and observes, "You look like you've been silk screened yourself. You're kind of yellow."

Neal laughs, "Sometimes I'm red and sometimes I'm blue, too. How about you? What color are you?"

She thinks a minute and giggles, "Oh, pink I guess. You know, sugar and spice and everything nice; that's what little girls are made of."

Neal asks casually, "So where do you create your art? Not at George's little studio?"

"Well, I just use that for convenience. I have my own workshop, kind of like Andy's Silver Factory." Missy asks, "Would you like to see it?"

"I would," Neal agrees. There is a knock on the door that Neal recognizes as Mozzie's. He breezes into the room already talking, "Neal, my friend, wait till you hear what I discovered...."

"Come in, Mozz," Neal says ironically. "Meet my new friend Missy Fairfeather. We were just leaving."

Mozzie checks out the young woman and asks tentatively, "Haven't I seen you in, uh, movies?"

Neal takes her glass from her and steers past Mozzie, saying quickly, "See you later, Mozz."

Mozzie objects, "But Neal, are you feeling okay? Yesterday you agreed you would go to the doctor today."

Neal suppresses his annoyance and says airily, "Oh that. It was nothing. I'm fine. See you later."

Mozzie watches as Neal and the young lady get into a taxi and pull away. He quickly snaps a photo of Neal's companion and memorizes the number on the cab just in case. Something just doesn't feel right to him. When he gets back upstairs, he notices Neal's computer search and scrolls through his history of recent websites.

Shortly after Mozzie leaves, Peter arrives to pick Neal up for dinner. When Neal doesn't answer his knock, he lets himself in. He wonders if Neal might have gone to the doctor, but he sees Neal's suit jacket and tie draped over a chair. He takes out his phone and punches the speed dial for Neal, only to find that Neal's phone is on his nightstand. He idly picks up the fake Monroe screen print and turns it over in his hands.

In the cab, Missy tosses her hair over her shoulder flirtatiously and sidles up next to Neal. She opens her pink vinyl handbag and withdraws a small pill case. She removes a blue capsule and pops it into her mouth. She holds one up in front of Neal and asks, "Want one? It's Molly."

"Oh no thanks," Neal declines. "I don't do drugs. You take a lot of those?"

"You know, _Tune in, turn on, drop out,_ " Missy giggles. "Come on. Have a little fun with me." 

"No really, I just want to see where you work," protests Neal. 

"Where I work and live," she corrects. She rubs up against him sensually and sighs, "We could have a little fun when we get there."

When Neal involuntarily flinches from another abdominal cramp, Missy pulls out her pill case again and says, "Come on, you can at least take some Tylenol, can't you?"

Neal gratefully accepts the two large white pills and swallows them down dry. He tries to pay attention to where they're going as Missy prattles on about Andy Warhol and pop art and her grandmother's glamorous life. She keeps trying to cuddle closer and Neal awkwardly puts his arm around her.

By the time they arrive at the address she gave the cab, Missy is definitely showing the effects of the Ecstasy. Neal's pain is gone, but his head feels spacey and he wonders what the pills he took really were.

As soon as they get inside, Missy quickly secures the door with multiple locks and turns to face Neal. She gives him a strange little smile and says, "I have a surprise for you."

As Neal watches in fascination, she lifts her short skirt up and reveals a penis and testicles. As he stares, she pulls off her blonde wig to reveal very short brown hair. Neal says hesitantly, "You're a man?"

Missy laughs and tells him, "That's why George Andrews doesn't know Missy. He knows me as Mike Mason. I'm technically Mitzi Mayfeather's grandson. George prefers boys, you know."

"Oh, well, uh...." Neal stammers. "Uh, do you prefer to be called Mike or Missy?"

Neal looks away as Mike pulls the skirt off and advances toward him, fondling his dick with one hand and reaching out to caress Neal's face with the other. He asks coquettishly, "Did I mention how gorgeous you are?"

Neal smiles with as much charm as he can muster, "Hey, you're pretty stunning yourself, as a man and as a woman."

"Do you really think so?" gushes Mike. "I mean I know the makeup is a little heavy. Do you think it's too much?"

"No, not really," Neal placates. He looks around and finds that they are in a large room that is basically a large studio furnished only with an old red sofa, a table and chairs, a dresser, and a romantic four post bed. The walls are painted silver. "Hey this does look like Warhol's silver factory. Is this where you do your work?"

"Yeah, mostly," Mike says vaguely. "Would you like to work for me? I could use the help. I think I've got Georgie almost spooked enough to sell, but he's started getting suspicious. I need to put a little more pressure on him before he does something stupid like call the cops."

Neal backs up to the red sofa and sits down. He wonders how much Mike/Missy is just messed up by the drug and how much might be real mental illness. He is becoming extremely uncomfortable. He reaches for his phone and realizes regretfully he doesn't have it with him.

Neal smiles gently and teases, "Hey, that wasn't Tylenol you gave me. What was it? I'm getting pretty high."

Mike places his cock in Neal's hand and strokes his face. "It's Tylenol with codeine, that's all. I'm glad it's helping. I can help you take your mind off of your pain. Do you ever like to have sex with men?"

Neal pats Mike's cock and let's it go. He looks up with as much sincerity as he can manage and demurs, "That is tempting, but I don't think I can get into it right now. Really, I should go."

Mike strips off the rest of his Missy costume, removes his make up, and dresses in preppie Abercrombie and Fitch casual slacks, sweater and loafers. He shrugs, "Okay, your loss then. Look, I've got to go see Georgie at the gallery. I want you to wait here for me. Feel free to use the studio. You'll find it well equipped."

"Oh no, that's very generous of you, but really, I should go," Neal protests. He starts to get up and is hit with a wave of nausea. He sits back down and takes a couple deep breaths. 

When he looks up again, Mike is pointing a small silver pistol at him. He says glibly, "Sorry Neal, but I can't let you upset all my plans now, after everything I've been through."


	5. Silver

Neal puts his hand up and says, "Hey, hey, wait. You don't need that. I'm not going to get in your way."

"I know you're not, because I'm not going to let you," Mike asserts cockily. 

Suddenly Neal's abdominal cramps return. He groans and doubles over. He pleads, "Mike, I'm sick. I need a doctor."

Mike eyes him suspiciously, "I thought you told your friend you weren't sick. What's the matter with you anyway?"

Neal grunts, "Not sure, but I had surgery a few weeks ago and I think it's probably a complication."

"How do I know you're not faking?" Mike asks suspiciously. "Maybe you're just trying to get me to let you go."

"No, really, I need to go the hospital. You can go with me if you want," Neal pleads, tears filling his eyes.

"Not yet. I need to go to the gallery to talk to Georgie. He's expecting me," wavers Mike. "Depending on how that goes, I can probably let you go."

"Okay," Neal agrees. "You go ahead. I'll stay here. Look, I don't even have my phone."

"Yeah, I guess so," Mike considers. "I can lock you in here. Tell you what, I'll give you some more pain meds, okay?"

"Oh, that's alright. I'm good with what you already gave me," Neal hedges, already feeling high from the codeine he took earlier and not trusting what else Mike might give to him.

Mike challenges, "I knew it! You're not really in pain or you wouldn't refuse more pain medicine."

"It's just that I'm allergic to some medicines," Neal improvises. "Here. Look at these scratches I have from itching so much."

Mike flies into a rage. "You can take the pills or I can just go ahead and shoot you. Which do you prefer?"

Neal tries to take a deep breath in spite of the pain. He concedes, "Okay, yeah. I'll take the pills. Where are they are?"

Mike forces him at gunpoint to get some pills out of a cabinet and a bottle of water from the fridge. Neal dutifully swallows two of them as instructed. He can tell from the bottle that they are prescription, but he can't read what kind. He wearily sits back down and waits for the pills to start working.

Neal lies down on the red sofa and tries, "Hey, why don't you put the gun down now. I'll take a little nap while you're gone."

Mike nods slowly, "Yeah, that's good. If everything goes right, I'll let you go when I get back and you can go to a doctor."

Keeping one hand on the gun, Mike gets his pink purse and fishes out another pill and swallows it dry. He slips the gun into the purse, slings the purse over his shoulder, and goes out the door. Neal hears the sound of all the locks turning and sighs.

As soon as he is sure Mike is gone, Neal goes into the bathroom and vomits up the pills he just took. It isn't hard to do because his nausea has been made worse by the codeine he took earlier. He scratches his itchy jaundiced skin hard enough to leave more bloody marks on his arms and legs.

Neal looks around the studio for a few minutes, finds some useful tools to use, and sets to work on picking the multiple door locks. Only one of them looks challenging, but it's hard for him to concentrate because of his illness and the codeine in his system.

Across town, Mozzie and Peter independently decide to go back to the George Andrews gallery. Mozzie arrives first and quietly enters the main gallery. He doesn't see anyone, but he hears noises coming from the studio in the back.

He quietly creeps down the hall until he is right beside the door; then holds his phone camera out like a mirror and angles it so he can see the inside of the studio on the screen. The noises become clearer at the same time he focuses on George Andrews leaning back against a work table with his pants down around his ankles.

He is moaning, "Oh Mikey, that's heavenly." A young man with short brown hair that Mozzie assumes must be Mikey is avidly sucking George's cock.

Mozzie snaps a quick photo; then silently returns to the gallery and begins to rifle through George's desk. He hears a new sound and looks up to see Peter Burke standing there in front of him with his hands on his hips.

Mozzie puts a finger to his lips and nods his head toward the studio where the passionate moaning is getting louder and more urgent. He motions for Peter to step outside. Once they are outside the door, Mozzie quips, "Well, this is awkward."

Peter fixes Mozzie with a cold stare and demands, "Okay, what's going on? Where's Neal?"

"I don't know. Really. I came here because I thought Neal might be here. I was just looking to see if I could find any clues," Mozzie swears.

"Would this have anything to do with the fake Warhol on Neal's table?" sighs Peter. "Come on. I want the whole story."

"Alright, but first we need to get out of view," Mozzie pleads. "As soon as George climaxes from his blowjob in there, he's likely to come out and see us. From the sounds of things, I'd say he was getting close."

They retreat to a small cafe across the street from the gallery where they can keep an eye on the front door. Mozzie warns, "You know there's a back door to that studio, too."

He takes out his phone and stares carefully at the photo he snapped of the two men in the studio. He muses, "Hmm, I'd like to get a better look at this young man. Something about him looks familiar."


	6. Green

Neal finally manages to get all the locks open, but he's too exhausted to leave. He decides to lie back down on the red sofa to rest for just a little while. He knows he needs to leave before Mike/Missy returns, though.

Mozzie stares at the photo he snapped of the young man who was on his knees pleasuring George Andrews. There's something about his body type that strikes Mozzie as faintly familiar. He flips the screen back to the previous picture, which is the one he took of the young lady who got in the cab with Neal. 

Peter snaps, "Come on, Mozzie. Try to focus. We need to find Neal. He's not well and I'm worried about him. He knew I was coming to pick him up for dinner."

Mozzie replies distractedly, "Suit, look at these two photographs and see if you notice any similarity."

Peter takes the phone and examines the two photos curiously. He nods, "Yes, I see the resemblance. Are you thinking they are siblings?"

"Um, no, I'm thinking maybe it's the same person. Come on, we need to make sure he doesn't get away. You go in the front and I'll guard the back," Mozzie urges.

"The same person? You're thinking it's a disguise?" Peter hesitates. Seeing Mozzie's determination, he relents, "Okay, I'll take the front and you take the back, but don't you dare leave here without me."

Mozzie is already hurrying across the street, so Peter quickly settles their check and follows. As he quietly enters the gallery, he hears George saying tensely, "No, Mikey, I'm not going to sell. I've already talked to the FBI about the fakes."

There is a mumbled reply and then George cries fearfully, "Wait! What are you doing? Put that away."

Peter draws his weapon and proceeds cautiously toward George's office. When he sees the young man holding a gun on George, he takes a shooting stance and yells, "Drop it! Drop the gun right now. FBI."

Mike startles and turns to look at Peter. Peter uses the moment of confusion to close the gap between them and wrest the gun from Mike's hand. Mike looks petulantly at George and babbles, "Now see what you've done, Georgie. Haven't I been good to you? Haven't I done everything I could to make you happy? All I ever wanted was my gallery back."

"Your gallery?" repeats George in confusion. "Mikey, what are you talking about? You've been trying to get me to sell it."

"Yes, trying to get you sell it to me, you bastard," Mike says desperately. "It's not too late. You can still do it. I have enough money to buy it. It's supposed to be mine!"

Peter handcuffs the distressed young man and instructs George to go open the back door and ask the man outside to come in. George returns with Mozzie and puzzles, "This isn't your partner from the other day. This is the artist Mozart. What happened to Neal?"

At the mention of Neal's name, Mike stares wide eyed at Mozzie and recognizes him as Neal's friend that he saw earlier at his apartment. He shakes his head, "I can't believe this was all a big trap. Georgie, did you set me up?"

George looks totally confused and questions, "You know Neal? I don't understand what's going on."

Mike answers obliviously, _"The earth without art is just eh."_

George responds, _"Making money is art and good business is the best art."_

 _"The idea is not to live forever; it is to create something that will."_ Mike answers.

Peter shuffles in place impatiently. Mozzie steps up close Mike and asks gently, "Missy, where's Neal now? Do you know?"

Mike responds enigmatically, _"The idea of waiting for something makes it more exciting."_

George chimes in, _"As soon as you stop wanting something you get it."_

Peter adds, _"They always say time changes thing; but actually you have to change them yourself._ Now, tell us where Neal is."

Mike complies miserably, "I left him at my Factory. He's kind of sick, but I didn't hurt him."

Peter picks up Mike's pink vinyl purse and uses his handkerchief to carefully remove the contents. He finds the pill box, a hairbrush, cosmetics, and some cash, but no ID or address. He frowns, "Where is this Factory?"

Mozzie looks at Mike sympathetically and asks again, "Missy, please, can you take us to Neal now?"

George asks, still confused, "Who is Missy?"

Mozzie and Mike answer together, "Missy Fairfeather. She's the granddaughter of Mitzi Mayfeather."

George splutters, "But your name is Mike Mason, isn't it?"

Mike nods and whines, "I'm Mitzi's grandson. She wanted me to have this gallery. She told me one day it would be mine, but you got it instead. I've saved enough money to buy it, but you won't sell it. Why won't you sell it, Georgie?"

Peter intervenes, "Come on, all of you. We're going to find Neal now!"

Mike nods solemnly, "Neal's sick."

They all four walk to Peter's car, with Peter holding on to Mike by the handcuffs and keeping his gun in his hand. When he gets everyone in the car, he uses his phone to quickly call Clinton Jones to request assistance.

Peter demands menacingly, "Okay Mike/Missy, what's the address?" 

Mike docilely tells him and then lays his head on George's shoulder. He begs, "Please don't be mad at me, Georgie. _Everybody must have a fantasy."_

Peter rolls his eyes, but Mozzie suggests in a low voice, "Suit, go easy. I think Mike's a couple of soup cans short of a Warhol, if you know what I mean."

When they arrive at the address, Mike leads them up to his Factory. Peter tries the door and finds it unlocked. He pushes the door open. Mozzie and George stare, fascinated by the studio. Mike sulkily slinks over and puts on his shaggy silvery blond wig.

Peter runs over to a sleeping Neal. He rouses him with difficulty and is alarmed to see how jaundiced he is. His blue eyes are hazy and surrounded by bloodshot yellows instead of their usual clear whites. He blinks up at Peter, obviously disoriented.

Peter drops to his knees and pulls Neal into a hug. His warm brown eyes are melting with concern as he checks, "How sick are you, Buddy? Did this psycho hurt you?"

Neal shakes his head and sighs, "No, he didn't really do anything, but I'm really sick."

"Shall I call the ambulance or do you think you can make it in my car?" Peter inquires anxiously.

"Car," confirms Neal. "Can we go soon?"

Clinton Jones appears at the door and strides into the room. He looks at the svelte man in the blonde wig and handcuffs and raises his eyebrows. "This the guy, Peter?"

"Yeah, meet Mike Mason/Missy Fairfeather; Warhol forger, false imprisoner and extortionist, possibly blackmailer... Read him his rights and take him into custody, will you?" Peter asks dismissively.

"What about this other guy?" Jones nods toward a fretful George, while ignoring Mozzie completely.

Peter snorts, "Naw, he's a victim, but get a statement from him. I want this place sealed off and searched as soon as we leave. It's a crime scene. You can consider the George Anderson gallery a crime scene, too."

"And him?" Jones finally acknowledges Mozzie.

"Don't worry about him. I'll deal with him myself." Peter concedes, "He was actually helpful in this case."

Peter notices Neal looking at him with a desperate pleading expression and squeezes his arm. "Come on, Buddy, we're going now."

As they head toward the door, Peter tosses over his shoulder casually, "You coming, Mozz?"

The little man breaks into a huge grin and scurries over to walk out self importantly with Peter and Neal. He gives Jones an imperious look as he passes by him, demanding, "Don't be too hard on Mikey. He's a movie star, you know. _Everyone deserves their fifteen minutes of fame."_

As they help Neal into the car, Mozzie teases, _"One's company; two's a crowd; and three's a party!"_

Peter warns ominously, "Not one more Andy Warhol quote. Please!"


	7. Purple

At the hospital, Neal's surgeon, Dr. Bill Carpenter, carefully examines Neal and frowns, "How long have you been ill?"

Neal replies hesitantly, "I'm not quite sure. It was about the time I went back to work. I had some cramping, nausea and itching and I felt very tired, but it wasn't constant. It seemed to get better and worse, depending on how much activity I had."

Dr. Carpenter explodes "Who said you could go back to work? I told you that you needed at least a month off to recuperate before you went back."

Peter stares hard at Neal as Neal admits sheepishly, "Well, I was tired of staying home, so I kind of forged your name on a Return to Work release form."

The doctor shakes his head. He responds in clipped tones that reveal his anger, "Well, you have a biliary obstruction with colic. Your bile duct is blocked off. That's what's causing the jaundice, nausea and spasms. If you hadn't gotten here pretty soon, it could have been fatal."

"But there's something you can do to help him now?" questions Peter hopefully.

"Well, we may get lucky and I won't have to take him back to surgery," sighs Dr. Carpenter. "I'm going to call my colleague Jorge Martinez, a gastroenterologist. We can hope he can go in and open up the duct through a procedure called Endoscopic Retrograde Cholangio-Pancreatography, known as ERCP for short."

"What is it?" asks Neal fearfully. "Do I have to be put to sleep for it? Am I going to have another long recovery?"

The surgeon smiles a little and explains, "That depends on whether Dr. Martinez succeeds with the ERCP. Basically, he's going to stick a tube down your throat and examine your duct under x-ray and try to fix it through the scope. You won't need general anesthesia, but you'll be heavily sedated during the procedure. You can probably go home the next morning."

"And if it doesn't work?" Peter asks warily.

Dr. Carpenter grimaces, "Then I will have to perform a very risky major operation under general anesthesia and, yes, there will be a long recovery with a high chance of complications."

"Aw, come on, Bill," grins Neal bravely. "Don't try to sugarcoat it for me."

"You wait right here while I go call Dr. Martinez, wise guy," the surgeon scolds, with just a hint of amusement. "While I'm gone, I suggest you pray that the ERCP succeeds."

As soon as he leaves the room, Peter scowls, "I can't believe you forged his signature on that form. I knew I should have called him to check."

Neal reaches for Peter's hand and gives him a pitiful puppy look. "Forgive me? Looks like I'm getting punished enough."

Peter caves and pats Neal's shoulder reassuringly and tells him, "This time I'm bringing you home to recover at Chez Burke so Elizabeth and I keep an eye on you."

Neal nods as he squirms in pain in response to another severe cramp. He grunts, "Sounds good to me."

When Dr. Martinez arrives, he gives Neal an amused look and greets him, "So you are the infamous Neal Caffrey, problem patient. Happy to meet you."

He proceeds to describe the ERCP procedure in greater detail and obtain Neal's consent to do it first thing in the morning. He explains, "Normally, this is an outpatient procedure, but your case is complicated so I'm going to admit you to the Medical floor tonight and keep you tomorrow night to be sure you're okay."

Neal doesn't even argue. He just asks, "Can you do anything about the nausea and the itching?"

Dr. Martinez smiles and assures him, "Yep, I'm going to give you enough medicine tonight to keep you from getting into any trouble. If the procedure is successful, you won't have those symptoms anymore."

"Do you think it will be successful?" asks Peter with concern. The cheerful medical specialist nods, "I'm very good at what I do. I can't guarantee success, of course, but I'll do everything I can."

A nurse comes in and administers two syringes of medication into Neal's IV line. Relief spreads through him quickly and he gives Peter a goofy grin as he closes his eyes. Peter strokes his soft brown hair and sniffs back a tear.

The next thing Neal remembers is waking up after his procedure feeling heavily sedated. Dr. Martinez is assuring Peter that the procedure went very well and he was able to relieve the blockage of the bile duct. Neal feels profound relief and reaches out for Peter's hand before drifting back to sleep.

Later that evening, Peter lovingly helps a very wobbly Neal get out of bed and walk to the bathroom. His urine is still orange, but his skin and eyes are already clearing up. Mozzie and Elizabeth drop in to visit, but Neal sleeps most of the time. Elizabeth gives him a chaste kiss and murmurs, "See you tomorrow, Sweetie."

In the morning, Neal is awakened by the sound of two deep voices conferring seriously. He opens his eyes to find Peter and Dr. Martinez standing by his bedside. Neal jokes, "Hey, is this a private conversation or can anyone join in?"

"Ah, the sleepyhead awakes!" Dr. Martinez exclaims. "Welcome back to the land of the living."

Neal smiles, "Did I hear you say the procedure was a success? This is the first day I've waked up without any pain or nausea. I still feel pretty fuzz brained, though."

The doctor responds seriously, "Neal, I was just telling Peter that I was able to clear the blockage in your bile duct with the scope, but there is a chance that it will come back. It's important for you not to stress yourself for a little while. You need lots of rest."

Neal nods earnestly, "Okay, I think I learned my lesson this time. By rest, do you mean I have to stay in bed?"

"Not necessarily in bed, but sitting most of the time with a couple of naps a day should work. You can take a little walk a couple of times a day for exercise, but no prolonged standing, no lifting, no stress," Dr. Martinez explains. "You need to give your body time to heal completely."

Peter looks threateningly at Neal and asks, "Any questions, smart guy? No going back to work early this time."

Neal makes a face and challenges, "I can still use my brain, though, right Doctor? I just can't go investigate, like we did at the galleries."

Dr. Martinez nods, "As long as it doesn't stress you or make you too tired, that's fine. I'm going to give you some Xanax, though. I want you to take it three times a day for a week. It will affect your thinking and physical coordination, so no driving or operating machinery and no major decisions in your life right now. Understand?"

Neal nods, then looks over at Peter and grins. "Dr. Martinez, is it okay to have sex?"

Peter looks mortified, but the doctor chuckles and winks, "Sure. Sex is good for you, as long as you don't do anything too athletic."

Neal presses, "What about drinking? Can I have a glass of wine with dinner? Any diet restrictions?"

Dr. Martinez laughs out loud and tells him, "One drink will knock you on your ass with the Xanax, but, as long as you don't try to drive or overexert yourself, I don't care. Don't drink too much and don't take other meds. No diet restrictions. Eat whatever you want."

Peter breaks in, "Any other instructions? Anything we can do to keep this from happening again?"

"Rest, rest, rest and be calm and happy. Come back to see me in one week unless you have any symptoms. If you do have any pain or nausea or itching, or just feel sick, please call me right away. If you can't get me after hours, especially if you have any fever, come here to the hospital," Dr. Martinez warns.

He looks around expectantly, "Any other questions? No? Well, you can always call me if you think of anything. It's been a pleasure meeting you. Now go home and do what I told you and I'll see you next week."

Neal grins, "Thank you, Doctor. I get it - rest, rest, rest. I sure don't want to get sick again."

Peter adds gratefully, "Yes, thank you so much, Dr. Martinez. Don't worry. I'm going to keep this guy down this time. I'll make sure he takes that medicine, too."

Before they go to the Burke's house, Neal asks to stop in at his apartment to pick up some clothes and let June know what's going on. Peter carries his bag to the car for him. On the way out, Neal casually grabs his fake Warhol and brings it along. 

Once he's settled in, Peter offers, "How about something to eat? Or do you want a nap? Are you tired?"

Neal rolls his eyes affectionately, "I love you, Mother Hen, but take it easy. I've finally learned my lesson. Really, I have. What have you got in the fridge? Where's Elizabeth?"

Peter smiles, happy to have Neal back, "El has a big wedding today, so we won't see much of her, but she's planning to stay home with you tomorrow."

Neal objects, "I don't need a nurse or a nanny, Peter. I'm only gonna stay here if I don't interrupt your lives too much."

Peter agrees, "Understood, but I think El wants to stay home tomorrow anyway. She usually likes a day to recover after a big event."

They sit at the table companionably, with Peter eating a deviled ham sandwich and Neal cleaning up some leftover pasta. Peter swigs a beer and Neal pours himself a glass of Chianti. Neal urges, "So tell me about the case. Did you interview Mike Mason and George Andrews? Have you found any more evidence? How did you figure out where I was?"

Peter patiently tells him the story of how he and Mozzie both got suspicious and went to the gallery. When he finishes the whole story, Neal says wistfully, "Poor Mike. I think he grew up with fantasies of being like his grandmother in all the glamorous tales she told him about hanging out with Andy Warhol."

Peter nods, "It's kind of a sad story. Turns out he had an abusive father and a socialite mother who ignored him. They shuttld him back and forth for years during a messy divorce process. He used to dress up as a girl and pretend he was Mitzi. After he got out on his own, he invented the Missy character and hatched his elaborate con to get his studio back."

"So he and George were lovers? And George let Mike use the studio to indulge him, never guessing he was scheming to force him to the sell the gallery?" Neal guesses.

"Mmmhmm, he seduced George, but, like you, George was suspicious that some of the faux Warhol prints were coming out of his studio. That's why he called us," Peter elaborates.

"Any idea how many fakes are out there?" Neal wondered. "Screen painting allows large numbers of prints to be produced. Andy Warhol produced 2600 Marilyns at first. There were twenty-six runs of one hundred each. He labeled them A-Z. Later a couple more runs were printed, though the last one may have been without his permission."

"Tracking down the forgeries and informing the galleries and museums will be my next task." Peter suggests, "Once I find out what to look for, you can help comb through catalogues on line to look for them."

"Do you need me to talk to Mike?" Neal flutters his eyelids flirtatiously. "He kind of propositioned me."

"Kind of?" asks Peter, with a brow raised. "What does that mean? Did he do it as Mike or Missy?

Neal blushes slightly and looks down. "Well, after he brought me to his Factory, he lifted up his skirt and put his dick in my hand."

"Subtle," laughs Peter. "I take it you resisted the temptation.

Neal chuckles, "He was lucky I didn't barf on him. He slipped me some Tylenol with codeine and it made me feel even sicker."

Peter looks at him fondly, "Speaking of medications, what time are you supposed to take your Xanax? Is it time for you to nap again?"

"I'm supposed to take one every eight hours, but they didn't give me one this morning because I was still getting over all the sedation they gave me yesterday. I'm supposed to try not to take it on empty stomach. Maybe I should start now. It's about 2:00 now. I'll take the next one at 10:00 this evening before bedtime," Neal calculates.

Peter goes to get Neal's pills for him and grabs another beer. He warns, "I don't think you'd better have any more wine right now if you're going to take the pill."

"Just a sip to swallow it with," Neal concedes. "Hey, do you like my Marilyn Monroe print? I thought it came out quite nicely."

"Yeah, what was that all about? And what was that writing on the back?" Peter pursues curiously.

"Well, that's how we flushed out Mike, or actually Missy. Mozzie took it over to the George Andrews studio and pretended to finish it there. Mike saw it there and wrote the little message on the back to show he knew it was fake and ruin any commercial value it might have had. I took it from the studio and he followed me home," Neal explains proudly.

Peter gets up and puts a hand on a hip. He says sternly, "So you basically ran an undercover op with Mozzie without my knowledge. That's how you ended up in danger with no back up, Neal."

Neal ducks his head and looks up through his long dark lashes, "I just wanted to impress you, Peter. I wanted to show you I was back."

Peter can never resist those impossibly blue eyes. His expression softens as he picks up Neal's print and teases, "What do you suppose we should we do with this now?"

Neal smiles, "I want to give it to Diana. It's not a real Warhol, but it's a real Caffrey!"

"That's very thoughtful," Peter smiles indulgently. "I suppose that would be okay. As you say, with the inscription on the back, it can never be mistaken for the real thing." 

"One of my favorite Warhol sayings is _"Don't think about making art. Just get it done. Let everyone else decide if it's good or bad, whether they like it or hate it. While they are deciding, make more art."_ He was really a genius."

Peter asks quizzically, "Why do you think even his soup cans have so much appeal?"

Neal winks at him. "That's easy. He said, _'You need to let the ordinary things that would ordinarily bore you thrill you.'_ He was able to make everyone see them that way, the way he did."

Neal stands up and starts to walk to over to Peter, but the drug and the alcohol combine to make him unsteady on his feet. Peter catches his arm and leads him to the couch. "Whoa, Buddy, I guess Dr. Martinez was right about combining those pills with wine."

Neal grins happily and pulls Peter down beside him. He purrs sexily, "He also said sex would be good for me."

Neal kisses Peter luxuriously and murmurs, "Mmm." Peter looks at him lustfully and checks, "So soon? Are you sure, Buddy?"

Neal nods enthusiastically, "You know drugs always turn me into a slut. I think we'd better do it here, though, because I don't think I can make it upstairs."

Peter notices Neal is beginning to slur his words and his eyelids are at about half mast. He gently kneels in front of Neal and pulls his sweatpants down. As he expects, Neal has nothing on underneath them and is already getting hard. Peter leans forward and licks Neal's cock and then sucks him into his mouth.

Neal gasps and leans in to encourage Peter to continue. He moans sensuously as Peter sucks on the head and massages the growing shaft with his hand. He pulls back for a moment, eliciting a groan from Neal. He lays Neal on his back as he lift his feet onto the couch. 

Peter straddles Neal's legs and kisses him on his mouth, whispering, "I love you, Neal Caffrey. Can you please stop scaring me with all these crises and get well?"

Neal has his eyes closed but he raises his hips and replies slyly, "Why don't you persuade me?"

Peter enthusiastically blows him, enjoying Neal's uninhibited pleasure. After a few minutes, he wraps a hand around Neal's straining, leaking cock and jacks him to climax. Peter chuckles and licks up a little cum before he lays his head on Neal's sticky abdomen. 

When he gets up, as he expects, Neal is smiling peacefully and sleeping. Peter pets him lovingly and gives his face a kiss. He gets a warm washcloth and cleans Neal off and pulls his sweatpants back up without waking him.

Peter sits down on the floor next to Neal, just appreciating his beauty. He lays his head against Neal's thigh and reaches into his own pants to relieve his own bulging cock and sighs with relief as he lets go of all of his tension and fears about Neal's safety. 

Neal mumbles in his sleep, "Thank you, Peter. I love you."

Peter grins at the thought of Neal staying in his house for a few weeks. He wants to protect and nourish him. And he wants to ravish him every chance he gets. A fleeting sadness passes over him as realizes how fragile life can be. He thinks of one more Warhol quotation: _"People need to be made aware of the need to work at learning how to live, because life is so quick and sometimes it goes away too quickly."_

He whispers, "Please don't ever leave me, Neal. I'll always take good care of you, Buddy."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bile Duct Obstruction:  
> https://www.nlm.nih.gov/medlineplus/ency/article/000263.htm

**Author's Note:**

> Peter Neal and the rest of the White Collar characters were created by Jeff Eastin for the series on USA TV. All other characters are fictional (except Andy Warhol).
> 
> Silver Factory  
> http://www.lomography.com/magazine/226508-the-factory-andy-warhols-studio-and-hip-hangout
> 
> http://www.artsperfect.com/cms-xmodnewsrss_detail/Article2/Andy-Warhol-Prints-of-Marilyn-Monroe.html
> 
> Andy Warhol Quotes (graphics)  
>  _https://www.google.com/search?q=andy+warhol+quotes &client=safari&hl=en&prmd=isvn&tbm=isch&tbo=u&source=univ&fir=OAaEgOGgPMVg4M%253A%252CG0GSpmY69Q4b0M%252C_%253B3aywUUsjvliZhM%253A%252CRgJP9Gl7XJc9GM%252C_%253BGBeoWAPXA76xJM%253A%252CRwPjiNUzYp8SJM%252C_%253B69-mufrLTqn4BM%253A%252CRgJP9Gl7XJc9GM%252C_%253B14aoJMsjpIoRCM%253A%252CRgJP9Gl7XJc9GM%252C_%253BT5U9Ky-I6Cy0GM%253A%252C8PTXhaQooXcjLM%252C_%253BETwSBTjQsMiKIM%253A%252CIOneNO0Wp_K1OM%252C_%253B_T-iCRsmK41unM%253A%252CIGg2syUD3E_ulM%252C_%253BXEw0y9fLmt8kkM%253A%252Cy_UZMkvBd9jv3M%252C_%253BthZ4x-2dU7tx9M%253A%252C6Y_sZ7MRYDvXwM%252C_&sa=X&ved=0ahUKEwiGqe_awc7KAhUE9h4KHRoECkkQ7AkIQw&biw=320&bih=441&usg=__gqaGx6rdkNClNFrm3fNub6VDKHQ%3D_


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